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“I’m trying to be nice. Don’t you want me to be nice?”
“Yes, but not too nice. That’s weird and unlike you, so whenever you deviate from that, it makes me wonder what’s up.”
Thankfully, Tinsley is busy getting ready, so she isn’t hearing this brutal assessment from my sister.
“I’ve always been decent with you.”
“Yes, but outside of me, you treat everyone as if they’re an inconvenience.”
I give her statement a half second of thought before agreeing. “Because they are.”
“And Tinsley is not me.”
“No. Thank God.” I would not be screwing Tinsley every five seconds if I thought of her as my sister. “But she’s not an inconvenience. We’re married, and we’re going to have a kid together.”
Sol’s mouth drops open, but Tinsley saves me from any further conversation. “I’m ready,” she announces, smoothing one lock of hair over her shoulder.
“Great.” I grab her hand. “See ya later, Sol. Remember to move around a little so you don’t get a bed sore.”
Something crashes against the wall. I think it’s her shoe. Tinsley looks alarmed, but I reassure her. “Just sibling stuff,” I say.
“I don’t know whether to be jealous or grateful that I’m an only child.”
“Neither. You were an only child, but now you have a sister to share stuff with.” I tap her Cartier bracelet.
“Oh, you noticed?”
I lead her down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. We are walking to our destination. “I can pay the bills, but I can’t afford Fifth Avenue jewelry.”
“Sol didn’t want to take it,” Tinsley inserts quickly as if my sister needs defending. “I forced it on her.”
“I know.”
“Where are we going?”
“A painting class.” I looked up dates on the Internet, and this seemed fun. There is booze, food, and a craft. The reviews were positive, too. As a bonus, the place is close by.
“Painting?”
“We’re doing Starry Night.”
At the small gallery, we’re given smocks, a glass of wine, a plate for food, and directed to pick out an easel. There are two near the plate glass window overlooking the street, and I snag those two while Tinsley fills our plates.
She returns with cheese, olives, grapes, slices of apples, and small bits of salami. My stomach growls in protest at the bite-sized snacks. “The food looked bigger on the website pictures.”
“It always does. Here.” She holds up a cracker laden with cheese and meat. I bite down, licking her fingers as she drops the snack into my mouth.
“Salty but good.” I wink at her.
She giggles and takes a seat next to me. “I can’t remember the last time I painted,” she admits.
“For me, never.” I stuff a few olives in my mouth when a memory strikes me. “Wait. At the docks, we painted a couple of old containers that were being repurposed into a tiny house, but that was with a turbo sprayer. No brushes.” I pick up one of the small brushes and wonder if I’ve made a mistake.
“I think the last time I painted was in middle school. I remember doing a self-portrait, only I ended up making myself look like a dog with a shirt. My chin was very boxy, and my ears were almost flaps.” She makes an adorable gesture with both hands by her ears. I reach over and pinch her cheek. “What’s that for?” she asks.
“You’re too cute for words. That’s what that is for.”
Her eyes are big and sparkly, and her smile is enough to send a rocket to the moon. I can’t believe I married this woman and that I get to have a baby with her. I don’t want to scare her off, so I’m not going to get down on my knees and vomit out all my unwanted feelings about how I adore her, and I’m so fucking happy that I get to touch her glorious body and wake up to her sexy as fuck face in the mornings. I’m clueless about women, but I do know that when someone is willing to marry a person off the street, they do not want undying declarations of love.
Tinsley wants to be respected and not be treated like she’s an irritation. Oh, and a regular helping of orgasms. That seems simple enough that even a crude dock worker like me can deliver on it.
The teacher starts telling us to wash the canvas with a wide brush and white paint. Once that is done, we move on to background. Tinsley nibbles on her lip as she concentrates. It’s hot and cute at the same time. I’m dying to kiss her again. I give up painting and just watch her. It’s more entertaining than anything else. Her face is so expressive. She scrunches her nose when she makes a mistake. Her tongue appears between her teeth when she does the detailed work. Her forehead gets little furrows as she tries to get the right yellow-gold for the stars. She gives herself quiet encouragement in between bouts of scolding. “Tinsley, that’s the wrong brush. Oh, but look at this star. It’s perfect.” She turns to me. “Didn’t this turn out nice?”
